


Extraordinary

by KernelPanic



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Kissing, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, POV Third Person, Strangulation, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 03:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8128184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KernelPanic/pseuds/KernelPanic
Summary: Elliot sits alone in his apartment, his mind a blizzard of fear and doubt. The familiar face at his door promises either an explanation or an execution - or perhaps both.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sentences in italics are Elliot's thoughts.

_I know, I know. I'm officially crazy. But the plan isn't._

_Is it?_

Elliot rested his head on the back of the sofa and slowly exhaled. He wished Darlene hasn't left so soon; the silence left in her wake was deafening.

_I'm kidding myself, aren't it? It's going to fail. I'm going to fail. This was a mistake. I'm crazy. I'm crazy. I'm crazy._

It was too much. He had to stop thinking. He had to _stop_.

He closed his eyes and listened.

The sounds were quiet and indistinct at first, background noise, but the longer he listened, the more he heard. Cars honking their horns and gunning their engines, buskers strumming guitars and warbling out airy pop songs, a hundred voices shouting and swearing at each other as their owners' walked the streets. Further away there was the steady thump of electronic music from a nightclub and the enthusiastic cheers of its patrons, and the loud laughter of drunks staggering towards their next bar. A bike bell rang out and a man raged in Arabic; two dogs barked at each other as they crossed paths. It was a wild and chaotic chorus, a tuneless song as full of life and meaning as any symphony. And it played across the city every night.

It was comforting, in its own way, to listen to. Eight million lives just outside Elliot's window. It made his own life seem smaller in comparison, less important. Like he was just another blip on the cosmic radar.

He tried to focus on that thought as he sat in the dimness of his apartment, arms held protectively across his chest. It wasn't easy with Mr Robot's face staring smugly at him from the insides of his eyelids; distant and blurry, but there all the same. Elliot didn't think he'd ever be alone again.

He shook his head and tried to ignore him, to purge the day from his mind like he would a bad dream. That's what the whole thing felt like. A nightmare he couldn't wake up from.

He was so lost in doing so he barely registered the creak of his front door opening.

Then it hit him. His head shot up in alarm and he leapt to his feet, Mr Robot instantly fading into the background as he registered who was standing there.

Tyrell Wellick lingered in his doorway, one finger pressed to his lips.

‘What the hell are you-’ Elliot began to demand, but broke off when Tyrell quickly hushed him and came in, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

Elliot hesitated, unsure of what to do. _What the fuck is Tyrell doing in my apartment? What does he want?_

Tyrell's eyes scanned the room cautiously before settling back on Elliot.

‘I've been waiting outside your apartment until she left,’ he said as way of explanation. ‘Didn't want anyone to know I'm here.’

Tyrell didn't look like a man on the run from the police. He looked the same as he always did: sleek and superior, in an impeccable black suit that probably cost more than Elliot's entire apartment. Not a hair on his head was out of place, not a single scuff on his Ferragamo loafers. He could have walked straight out of his office and into Elliot's living room.

His eyes, though... something was wrong with them, something that make Elliot's throat dry up and his heart thump harder in his chest. They were wider than normal, more intense, the paleness of his irises reflecting the yellow glow of the lamp overhead. The light revealed in them a hint of something his perfect looks couldn't hide: a wild, dark madness, barely constrained.

‘I know you're behind it,’ Tyrell said evenly. ‘All of it. Fsociety, the server, Colby, Allsafe. You're the one constant in a sea of variables.’

He turned around and locked the door. Removed his jacket. Sat on the table with the same air of casual superiority he had perfected in Evil Corp. Only that unhinged glint in his eyes betrayed him.

‘Elliot... now, I don't know what your grand plan is, but I need to, and you're going to tell me.’

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of blue latex gloves, the kind used by doctors. The squeak as he slipped them on seemed painfully loud in the quiet of the apartment. Elliot didn't know what he planned to do with them, but he could make a pretty good guess.

Tyrell sat still for a moment, his gaze drifting. Silence filled the room, almost as thick as the electric tension that threatened to overwhelm them. Elliot had just decided to make a run for the exit when Tyrell began to talk.

‘Two days ago I strangled a woman to death just with my hands,’ he said matter-of-factly, still lost in thought. He didn't look at Elliot as he continued. ’That's a strange sensation. Something so tremendous done by something so simple.’

After a moment, he blinked and locked eyes with Elliot. The wildness in his gaze had grown, becoming almost inhuman. Elliot barely recognised him from the carefully controlled businessman he was so used to. It was like looking into the face of a stranger.

Tyrell continued, ‘The first ten seconds were... uncomfortable, a feeling of limbo, but then your muscles tense, and she struggles and fights, but it almost disappears in the background along with everything else in the world. And in that moment it's just you and absolute power. Nothing else.’ His tone was calm, but held in it something else, too. It took a moment for Elliot to identify it: the contemplative awe of a man who just discovered something wholly spectacular.

He rose to his feet and stepped closer to Elliot. Elliot swallowed and blinked, dread rising in him as he stopped mere inches away from his face.

‘That moment stayed with me. I thought I'd feel guilty for being a murderer, but... I don't,’ he smiled wistfully, his next words coming out in a soft chuckle. ‘I feel _wonder_.’

Elliot stared at him, taking in the unnatural serenity of his smile and the glittering awe in his eyes, and knew immediately that he was telling the truth. Tyrell Wellick was an unrepentant murderer. And his face was inches away from Elliot's.

Elliot just barely kept terror from overwhelming him. He swallowed nervously, trying to clear his parched throat. ‘I...’

Tyrell cocked his head to one side and said nothing.

‘I'm not telling you anything,’ Elliot managed to say, trying in vain to keep the tremble out of voice. _What the fuck am I doing?_

‘I don't think you understand the situation you're in, Elliot,’ Tyrell said in the same steady tone as before. ‘We both know what I did to Sharon. If you're not going to tell me what I need to know, then...’ he smiled apologetically. ‘Well, I'm sure you've figured out what happens next.’

_Sharon Knowles. The CTO's wife. It really was him._

_Fuck. I need to tell him about fsociety. He's going to kill me._

_If I tell him, he'll kill the whole thing. The hack, fsociety, the revolution. All of this will be for nothing._

_Shit. There's got to be another way._

‘I need an answer, Elliot.’

_There isn't one, is there? There never was._

_If I die, Darlene and the others can still carry out the hack. My work is done; they don't need me anymore._

_I don't want to die. Not yet._

_This is bigger than me. I can't let him do this. I won't._

Elliot opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He wanted to run, to shove Tyrell and his madness away and flee to safety, but he felt paralysed. All he could was stare in silence.

_I know. I know what I have to do._

_I wanted to save the world. If this is the cost... then it's one I have to be willing to pay._

He shook his head and said nothing.

Tyrell sighed, ‘If that's what you want. For what it's worth...’ he said softly, ‘It's been a pleasure.’

Elliot's eyes went wide as he saw Tyrell spring into action. Like a coiled snake suddenly striking out, Tyrell lunged towards Elliot, hands reaching for his neck. His face drained of all emotion, no anger or sadness or regret, almost like he was in a trance. It was terrifying.

Elliot just barely dodged out of the way as Tyrell grasped for him. He stumbled backwards, bumping into the wall behind him and gasping as he saw Tyrell charge at him with his arm raised to strike. He dodged again, feeling a rush of air brush his face as Tyrell's hit just barely missed him. Not giving Tyrell time to attack again, he quickly turned on his heel and sprinted towards the front door, hands reaching for the lock. _If I can just get it open..._

To his horror, he felt Tyrell seize a handful of his hair and yank him backwards. _How the hell is he so fast?_ He cried out in pain and stumbled as Tyrell pulled him away from the door and let go, positioning himself between Elliot and it. Elliot managed to take a few steps backwards, only having a second to look up before pain exploded in the left side of his face and he staggered over, crashing into the arm of the sofa. Tyrell had punched him, hard. The room swivelled around him dangerously as his ears rang from the blow.

He looked up, vision blurring from pained tears, and just barely managed to pull himself upright as he noticed Tyrell closing in on him. He still wore that emotionless mask of blank, cold determination, almost robotic in its stillness. Only his eyes said otherwise, those terrible, savage animal eyes, the last things Sharon Knowles ever saw.

Elliot cried out as he felt Tyrell finally manage to wrap his hands around his neck. He choked at the sudden pressure and reached up to pull at it, already gasping for air. Tyrell was strong, far stronger than he looked.

Tyrell thrust Elliot backwards and slammed him into the wall. White sparks flew through Elliot's vision as his head smacked into the concrete, but all he could focus on was the terrible squeezing on his throat, crushing the breath out of him. He desperately tried to pry Tyrell's tight fingers off, and failing that, tried to kick him away. It was no good; Tyrell had him pinned far too tightly for him to manoeuvre.

He gagged as Tyrell's fingers dug deeper and deeper into his neck, thumbs pressing sharply into his throat. The slow pain of his windpipe compressing sent fresh panic spiralling through him.

Soon air stopped coming to his lungs altogether. A terrible tightness began to clench at his chest, like his innards were being crushed in a metal vice. He was being slowly dragged underwater, screaming and kicking in vain as water filled his body and the life drained out of him.

Time slowed. Tyrell's pale blue eyes became the only things in the room: wild, piercing, and filled with wonder.

It was strange. Elliot knew he was only minutes away from death, yet he felt more alive than he ever had before. Everything seemed heightened and more intense, sounds louder, colours brighter, like he'd just snorted a line of morphine. Adrenaline was a hell of a drug.

It didn't matter, in the end. His vision wavered and became tinged with darkness. His struggles weakened. His cries quietened. Pain faded. A sense of peace, watered down with sadness.

_Darlene will be all alone._

Tyrell froze. His hands were still clutched around Elliot's neck, but they were no longer tightening. He was perfectly still, a marble statue, his only movements being the slight rise and fall of shoulders under his rumpled shirt. It was like someone had flipped a switch on him.

After a moment, he let go. Elliot slid to the floor in a heap of limbs, tears, and desperate breaths.

Oxygen had never tasted so sweet. He gulped down precious mouthfuls of air, his whole body tingling as sensation flowed back to his limbs. Sound and colour came rushing back to him, beautiful and agonising, the world spinning round his head like a merry-go-round. It was like being born again.

He coughed and dry heaved, clutching at his neck as saliva dribbled down his chin. When Tyrell shifted a little closer he scrambled away in fear, only making it a few inches before his back hit the wall and his muscles gave out.

A few minutes passed like that, with Elliot sitting on the floor trying desperately to breathe life back into himself, and Tyrell standing over him, observing with a serenely blank expression.

Elliot finally recovered a little, his breaths becoming slower and steadier. As they did, however, his body began to register the full extent of his injuries. He groaned unconsciously as each one started to scream at him for attention. Not daring to look at Tyrell, he quickly took stock of them: there was the burning ring of fire around his neck, where he knew several finger-shaped bruises would already be forming; his cheek ached from the punch and had started to swell a little; and the back of his head hurt like hell from colliding with the wall. He winced as he reached back to touch it, his fingertips coming back wet with blood. _If I make it out of here, I'm going to have a lot of explaining to do._

He sat still, dizziness still threatening to overtake him. The room suddenly seemed terribly quiet, the only sounds being the distant rumble of the city outside and his own harsh, laboured breathing.

After a moment of inaction between the two, Tyrell knelt down to be face-to-face with Elliot. He peeled off his gloves and dropped them to the floor, then tilted his head to the side curiously. He studied Elliot's face the same way an art critic examines a particularly bold and unusual painting.

‘I was going to kill you,’ he said thoughtfully, breaking the silence. His icy eyes finally met Elliot's pained ones. ‘Just then. I was so sure... But you were meant for more than that, weren't you? We both were.’

With that, he reached forwards and softly placed his right hand on the back of Elliot's head, his fingers just barely brushing the fresh wound. Elliot let out a quiet whimper and closed his eyes, fully expecting this moment to be his last.

But Tyrell didn't hurt him. Instead, he did something utterly unexpected: he pulled Elliot close and pressed his lips against his.

Elliot couldn't move. He was frozen, paralysed from a mixture of pain, breathlessness, and sheer shock.

Tyrell's lips were warm against his, soft and tender, the taste of whiskey still on his breath. His freshly shaven skin brushed lightly against his own.

_Is this real?_

_It can't be. This is just another hallucination, a delusion created to shield me from whatever truth my subconscious has deemed too much for me to handle. Maybe Tyrell's still strangling me, and this is just my dying dream before I lose consciousness and my brain shuts down for good._

_If that's true, this is a far cry from the dream I expected._

After a moment Tyrell pulled away, dropping his hand from the back of Elliot's head. His taste lingered on Elliot's lips, strong and heady, intoxicating like an autumn wine. They stared at each other: Elliot's face contorted by fear and bewilderment, Tyrell's calm and affectionate, like the man he just kissed hadn't been his prospective murder victim mere minutes ago. Elliot noticed something had once again changed in his eyes - the inhuman gleam that had been there before had vanished, replaced by a kind of tender warmth Elliot couldn't help but wonder at. It was like Tyrell had transformed into another person entirely, neither the cold businessman from before nor the savage machine he had turned into. Someone kind and gentle.

Tyrell reached up and placed a hand on Elliot's cheek, making him flinch. He frowned and softly said, ‘You don't have to be afraid of me anymore, Elliot. I've seen the light.’

‘You tried to kill me,’ Elliot accused hoarsely, his throat burning. He felt like he was going to be sick.

‘I know,’ Tyrell replied, his tone regretful. ‘I'm sorry it came to that.’

There was a pregnant pause, before Elliot's inevitable curiosity took over. ‘Why did you stop?’ he asked hesitantly.

Tyrell sighed, not taking his eyes off Elliot. ‘It wasn't like it was with Sharon. It was... different,’ he said slowly. ‘When I looked into your eyes, my hands around your throat... I realised I'd be destroying something extraordinary if I kept going. Something irreplaceable. So I stopped.’

Elliot didn't know what to say. What _could_ he say? He licked his dry lips and tried to answer, but no words would come out.

Tyrell ran his thumb across Elliot's jawline as he said, ‘It's alright. You don't have to say anything.’

He moved his hand to the back of Elliot's head and pulled it close, resting Elliot's forehead on his chest. The two stayed like that for a while, their bodies cradled against each other, Elliot breathing in the faintly musky smell of Tyrell's cologne on his shirt.

Elliot knew he should be trying to stop this. He should be pushing Tyrell away and running to the exit, screaming for help. So why wasn't he?

He couldn't answer that. There was something... unexplainably comforting about the feeling of Tyrell's body against his, the tender strength of his arms wrapped around him. It was fucked up, he knew, but somehow he didn't want it to stop.

_He tried to kill me._

_But he stopped._

‘Du är så vacker,’ Tyrell breathed into Elliot's hair, his warm breath tickling Elliot's skin.

Though Elliot didn't understand them, there was a softness to Tyrell's words, a transparency that somehow compelled Elliot's body to relax into his embrace. It was insanity, surely - but they _were_ insane, weren't they? Both of them. So perhaps... perhaps it made perfect sense.

Tyrell pulled back, releasing Elliot from his grasp and letting him sit up. He caught Elliot's gaze with a knowing hint of a smile playing on his lips.

_He's manipulating me. This is another of his mind games, his way of controlling a situation. He wants to know what I know, and this is just another way he's trying to get at it. I can't risk giving in to him._

_I can't, but fucking hell, I'm going to._

Before Elliot could stop himself, he was leaning forwards and pressing his own lips against Tyrell's.

Tyrell didn't even seem surprised. He wrapped his arms around Elliot's lower back and returned the kiss, more forcefully than before. Elliot felt a multitude of emotions swell up inside him, fear and passion and desire all mingling into a bizarre compulsion to keep kissing the man in front of him, the man who had just confessed to strangling a woman to death and tried to do the same to him. It felt wrong; it _was_ wrong. But it also felt impossibly right.

It didn't matter. The concepts of right and wrong seemed as distant as the stars with the heat of Tyrell on his lips.

Tyrell laced his fingers through Elliot's hair and probed his tongue into his mouth, kissing him more fervently. Elliot let out a quiet moan as he did, his hands reaching forwards and grabbing handfuls of Tyrell's shirt. He wanted, _needed_ , Tyrell to stay with him, to become part of him, to chase away the loneliness and fear and bring clarity where there was none. He needed to understand.

He didn't know how long they stayed like that, embracing and kissing on the floor of his living room. Far too long, and not nearly long enough.

The coldness when Tyrell finally pulled away was almost unbearable. Elliot held on to his shirt like a lifeline, only letting go when Tyrell gently pried his hands off him. He gave them a squeeze before dropping them and taking Elliot's face in his own hands. He stared at him earnestly, his eyes wide and impassioned.

‘Show me what you've been doing,’ he urged. ‘Take me there.’

‘You'll stop it,’ Elliot said distantly, feeling like he was a thousand miles away.

‘Stop it? Elliot...’ Tyrell said, his gaze softening. ‘I don't want to stop it. I want to be _part_ of it.’

Elliot sighed, closing his eyes. Somehow, despite everything, he believed him. Or maybe he just wanted to. Still, he felt he had to ask: ‘How do I know you're telling the truth?’

‘A little faith, Elliot. That's all I ask.’ Tyrell smiled again, a real smile that made his face light up like the sun. Maybe he knew he had Elliot convinced. Maybe he'd known all along.

They reluctantly let go of each other and stood up, leaving them standing face-to-face once more.

‘Coney Island. The arcade,’ Elliot said simply. ‘That's where it all happened.’

Tyrell nodded, taking Elliot's hands in his own and giving him one last lingering look. ‘Thank you.’

He turned to the front door and started walking. Following his lead, Elliot walked out of his apartment, closed and locked the door behind him, climbed down the stairs, pulled his hood over his head and stepped into the orange glow of the streetlight outside.

He walked next to Tyrell, their steps almost in sync, and listened as the music of the night played on around them.


End file.
